


You'll Find a Heart (Cracked)

by All_the_damned_vampires



Series: Open His Head Baby [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Oral Penetration, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Incest Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8061514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_the_damned_vampires/pseuds/All_the_damned_vampires
Summary: Castiel gets some help with his chores from the hottest boys in the neighborhood.Title from an e.e. cummings poem.





	

It was hot.

Sweaty summer, air as wet and heavy as Cas's mouth pressed to the pillow in the morning. Fingers spit-wet and clawing desperately at his ass, moans muffled as Michael patrolled the hallway like the house was a barracks. Or a jail.  A/C turned off because _a penny saved is a penny earned_ and Castiel had to peel the sheets off his thighs for more than one reason before he pulled himself out of bed in the mornings.

Saturday.  No day of relaxation, no, not for Castiel.  Instead, Michael had gone into the garage and dragged the old mower—freckled with greasy lawn-clippings—to the front of the house and dragged Castiel out to stand behind it.

Saturday.  Saturday and _this will keep you out of trouble_ and _I expect a checkerboard pattern by the time I get back_ and Castiel had nodded and _yessirred,_ looking at the expanse of lawn with quiet despair.  He tried not to think too deeply about how easy it was to agree, even as he chafed at the idea of being outside, sweat-slick and overheated and panting like a dog.

But he resented it, he did.  _This will keep you out of trouble_.  Castiel had never been in trouble.  Lucifer was on tour in a thrash metal band and Gabriel was who knows where and Castiel—straight A student, Mathelete, Student Council Treasurer, best backstroke on the swim team---Castiel was the one who needed to be kept under control.

He just wanted to lie down in his room, bare skin cooled by the fan, and jerk off again and again until that maddening itch—the one that had been bubbling under his skin since age twelve—went away.  He had long made peace with any lingering guilt about self-abuse.  Simply put, quieting that itch, wringing himself out, fingers reddened and spent cock aching, was the only way he could get back up, put on that placid expression, and get back to the business of being Castiel.  Castiel, the youngest of the five Novak boys, the most obedient, back upright in the first pew next to Michael on Sundays.

Sighing, Castiel leaned down and pulled on the cord to start the mower.

It rumbled to life, sputtering a bit ominously, and Castiel pushed his hair off his forehead and stomped forward, feet jammed into rubber boots—the first shoes he'd found on the rack in the mud room when Michael's voice was thundering at him to hurry.  The mower smelled and sounded terrible, but it cut the grass neat enough, and Castiel marched back and forth, feet sweating in the boots, denim cut offs chafing his thighs, his white t-shirt growing damp and transparent as the sun rose and it got hotter and hotter.  He was halfway done when he made the mistake to kill the mower and step inside for a drink.

Ten minutes later, the damned mower wouldn't start back up.

Tugging and tugging on the string, Castiel swallowed back a scream.  It was hot and he felt gross and now Michael was going to come home and yell and yell at him.  Castiel actually didn't mind it most of the time, especially when he was yelled at for something he deserved—a B on a Literature test, daydreaming in church—but _this_.  Tried.  He had tried and somehow that was even worse.

Castiel stood on the lawn and squinted to make his eyes stop watering.

There was a rumble suddenly, and Castiel looked up at the sky.  But a moment later, a black muscle car was easing around the corner and down the street, gleaming like a black skull in the hot summer sun and Castiel felt foolish, standing in the yard, dead mower beside him, empty soda can in hand, looking useless.

He knew that car.

The Winchester brothers.  Sam was a year behind him in school, soccer star and Debate Team captain and  Mathelete and somehow he made it look good, look hot, striding down the hall on those mile-long legs, chestnut bangs tumbled in his eyes, foxy grin for each and every person.  Nice.  He was nice and smart and friendly, even to an uber-geek like Castiel. Sometimes in the hallway he would raise a hand and wave and Castiel would jerk his eyes down, sure that the gesture was for someone behind him, only to have Sam draw alongside him and say low in his ear upon passing, "Heya, Cas."

Sam's brother was a different story.

All the girls whispered about Dean.  Smooth, dangerous. He was older, early 20s, rugged, leather jacket no matter what the weather, pulling up in his walking wet dream of a car to pick up his not-so-little brother.  Sometimes he'd kill the engine and prop himself up on the hood of the car, grease-stained denim cupping that generous bulge between his legs and Castiel would freeze on the school steps and stare.  He would stare until he felt Dean's eyes on him, that smirk on his pretty pink mouth and Castiel would jerk away, heading for his bicycle and escape.

He looked horrible and stupid and the two hottest boys in town were driving by.

"Cas!" Sam shouted out of the open window of the car and Castiel tried to think of the appropriate response but all he could do was nod stiffly, neck jerking.  The car pulled up to the curve, idling with a lazy purr.

"Hot one, isn't it?" Sam said, smile big and friendly and Castiel nodded again.  Genius.

"You got any more of them sodas?" This was Dean, leaning over Sam to gaze out of the car and up at Castiel.

"The mower's broken," Castiel said stupidly.  This close he could see the grass-green of Dean's eyes and thank God he was wearing denim shorts, he could feel his dick straining in his pants at the sight of the sweat gleaming off Dean's killer cheekbones.

"What?"

"I have more sodas," Castiel said, fumbling with the Grape Crush in his hand.

"Your mower's broken?" Sam asked, voice soft with concern and before he knew it both Winchester brothers were out of the car and crowding him.  Sam put his hand on Castiel's shoulder and Castiel wanted to die, feeling how drenched his shirt was under Sam's big warm hand.  Dean knelt and examined the mower, opening up the front with a clang.

"Got any tools?" he asked, looking up, face level with Castiel's crotch and a thousand fantasies exploded inside Castiel's mind, whiting out his vision a little.  He shifted, horny and ashamed, and nodded again.  Jerked his head toward the open garage.

"Cool, Dean can fix anything," Sam said, hero worship in his voice.  He massaged Castiel's shoulder, just a little, and Castiel melted inside at how good it felt. "You get the sodas, we'll fix the lawn mower."

The loss of Sam's hand made Castiel swallow a whimper.  He nodded again and headed towards the house as the brothers pushed the mower towards the garage.

_Keep it together._

Inside the house, Castiel stuck his head in the freezer for a few minutes.  Then he gathered up six sodas—different flavors, it was important to have options—and headed outside.  A nagging voice in his head suggested that Dean might prefer a beer, but Michael didn't keep any alcohol in the house.

_Be cool.  Okay, be cool._

Inside the dim garage, it wasn't as hot, and Sam and Castiel leaned up against the work bench and watched Dean sweat and curse over the mower.  Sam chatted lightly, amiably, and it felt nice, natural, like they were friends.  Like Castiel was allowed to have friends.  He kept a firm grip on his soda can and tried to look cool.

But his eyes were drawn again and again to Dean.  He was only in a t-shirt and jeans, in deference to the heat, and Castiel watched him work greedily, eyes dragging over every shift of muscle in Dean's arms and back.

"Ridiculously good-looking, isn't he," Sam said quietly and Castiel jerked at being caught out.  He looked up at Sam looming over him, standing a little too close.  His normal Colgate-white smile was tinged a bit with the Orange soda he was drinking.

Sam winked and maybe it was a joke, but Castiel couldn't relax.  He sipped his own Grape soda, and tried to think of where he could look.  Sam had one brown, bare leg cocked, thighs shifting under his cotton shorts, t-shirt draped damp over a well-built chest.  Dean was bending over the machine with another curse, shirt riding up to show a tawny strip of skin across his broad back, ass flexing under his worn jeans.

Castiel gulped and studied the stained garage floor.

"Piece of shit, but I think I got it working," Dean finally said, standing up and stretching his arms up.  Castiel gaped a bit at the flash of belly this revealed.  Dean tugged on the mower and it started up again, this time with a smoother roar.  Castiel grinned.  Dean smiled back at him, and then turned the machine back off.

"Don't do that," Castiel said plaintively. "It might not start again."

"It will," Dean assured him.  He put the wrench in his hand back on the bench and crowded into Castiel's space.  "Let's talk payment."

"P-payment?" Castiel stuttered, blinking at Dean's chest.  There was a smear of grease over one pectoral. 

Dean reached out and gently twisted one of Castiel's nipples.  Shocked at how good it felt, Castiel moaned.  He looked down.  One nub was being held in between Dean's capable fingers, the other peaking dark and prominent through the thin, drenched fabric of Castiel's shirt.

"I make nearly fifty an hour at the garage," Dean continued.  He put one hand on the back of Castiel's neck and Castiel's knees almost buckled.  He leaned weakly against the work bench and blinked up at Dean. "You got any money?"

"N-no."

"So what are you going to pay with?" Those capturing fingers plucked, tugged, coaxed.  Castiel felt the pull on his nipple deep in his balls, his guts.  He was burning up.

"Cas, he's teasing," Sam murmured, but he was leaning in close, eyes darkened with heat.  He reached out and grasped Castiel's other nipple and pinched. _Hard_.  Castiel gasped, eyelashes fluttering.  They were both looming over him, hands controlling his tits like the reins on a skittish horse.

"You don't have to do anything," Dean added.  The hand at the back of Castiel's neck kneaded soothingly.  It didn't make that itch, that burn go away.  It was ten times worse than when Castiel woke up in the morning, rubbing one out as quick as he could before Michael bellowed for him. Before reality and all its soul-grinding demands intruded.

God, this was hotter than any fantasy Castiel had imagined.

"No, you're right," Castiel said breathily.  Both brothers tugged and Castiel swayed forward, dizzy. "I should.  I should pay you.  You worked hard."

Dean grinned. "So, got any money?"

"I don't," Castiel replied softly.

Together, the brothers released their grasp on his chest and Castiel choked at the loss.  His nipples were throbbing.

"Take off your shirt," Sam demanded.

Castiel pulled off the sodden, sticky fabric.  He had a farmer's tan, but other than that, he knew he looked okay.  Strong arms and stomach muscles, used for pulling his body through the water of the school swimming pool.  His head kept under so he couldn't hear anything, his breath burning in his chest.  He wondered if he'd drowned, if anyone would care.

He felt like he was drowning now.

"Nice," Dean said.

"I know," Castiel answered, unthinking, then blushed when both Dean and Sam laughed.

Dean's hand at Castiel's nape was pushing, gentle, inexorable, and Castiel knew what to do.  As easy as breathing he slid to his knees in front of Dean, legs spread wide, concrete floor hard on his bare knees.

"Damn," Dean muttered.

"Been staring at that mouth for months," Sam said and ran a thick thumb over Castiel's lower lip.  It slipped inside Castiel's mouth, hooking on his teeth, tugging.  Making a bit out of that salty, warm digit.  Castiel swallowed around it, drool pooling in his mouth.  There was a buzzing in his head and he felt his mouth relax, drooping open.  A trickle of spit trailed down his chin. The thumb was pulled away.

"So pretty," Dean agreed.  There was the rustle of fabric, clink of a belt, and suddenly Castiel was eye to eye with a cock.  He blinked to clear his vision and looked up.  Dean smiled down at him, one hand cradling his dick, cupping it, offering it up.  It was just as luscious pink as Dean's mouth, and Castiel felt the rounded tip press against his lower lip, leaving a tiny salt-wet kiss.

Castiel looked over at the still open garage door.  Anyone, anyone who drove by, would be able to see them.

"You still in, Cas?" Sam asked.  He was standing shoulder to shoulder will his elder brother, his own dick now out and in his hand.  It was longer than his brothers, darker, intimidatingly thick girth tapering to the head, a contrast to Dean's lollipop cock.

In answer, Castiel opened his mouth.  There was a press, one sweet head, then the other, vying for entrance to his mouth.  Castiel opened wider.  Made of himself a gaping wet maw.   Offered himself up, a hole for them to use.

"Good boy," he heard over the buzzing in his ears.

They slip-slid in and out, bringing sweaty salt and heat to drag across Castiel's palate.  One dick, then the other, rubbing against each other, piston smooth in their synchronicity.  Castiel thought about how that must feel to Sam, to Dean, brother flesh rubbing against brother flesh, and he came so hard he nearly passed out.

"Shit," he heard from far away. Castiel trembled, pushing himself back up.  He had jerked back, scream muffled, dick jerking in his pants, and now he leaned back in, cross-eyed, and applied himself again to the cocks pushed in his face.

"First born's prerogative," Dean muttered and suddenly Sam complained, "Hey!" Then there was one dick, driving in and out, stabbing at Castiel's throat.  Dean's pubic hair, pungent and damn, slapped against Castiel's nose again and again.  It filled him up, closed all those aching holes inside him.  It felt like drowning.  Castiel held his breath, held on, and applied himself.  Mouth sucking hard, moving in time to Dean's pumping hips.  He could make it to the finish line.

Salty spurt in his mouth and Dean backed off, allowing Castiel to suck air through his nose.  Sweet heaven.  God, he felt good.

He pulled off with one last, languorous lick and offered Dean a goofy smile.

"Damn it," Sam exclaimed and then Dean was stepping to the side, allowing Sam to take his place.  Dick-drunk, obedient, Castiel opened wide.  Sam surged inside, fucking even rougher than his brother, dick jabbing at the back of Castiel's throat, making him gag, even as he opened wider.  Opened himself up.  Two big hands were tangled in Castiel's dark, wet hair, pulling his head forward, manhandling him like a doll.  Sam fucked his face hard, mashing Castiel's nose against his pelvis.  At that first splash of come on his tongue, Castiel screamed around the dick in his mouth and came again.

Things went a bit dark after that.

Castiel remembered sinking down, strong hands cradling him.  The garage floor was cool against his cheek and he whimpered, fingers scrabbling, reaching out.  Then he was lifted, cradled, his head in someone's lap.  Those same hands that had tugged so masterfully at his head were back, this time petting his curls, soothing him.

Eyes closed to slits, as relaxed as he could ever remember being, Castiel drifted.

That maddening itch was gone.

"Went deep," Dean murmured from far away and then, "Stay with him, I got this."  The sound of the mower starting up vibrated the floor under Castiel's legs, and then faded into unimportant background noise.

The hands in his hair stayed and stayed.

Sometime later, the mower cut out and Castiel blinked.  He felt more alert, more aware.  He was lying with his head in Sam's lap and his hip hurt from the hard garage floor.  He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes.  Sam stood, easy, as if he hadn't been sitting on concrete for however long, and then he offered one long fingered hand to Castiel, helping him up.  One of those long thumbs brushed against Castiel's pulse point and Castiel felt his heart leap a bit.  But he felt strange.  Good.  Relaxed.

The best he'd felt in who knows how long.

"Doing okay?" Sam asked and Castiel nodded stiffly.  They stood there, Sam smiling and Castiel awkward, until the mower quieted again and Dean came back into view, wheeling it back to its place in the garage.

"All done," Dean said easily.  And it was.  Castiel could see the neat squares of green, clipped neatly into the expanse of lawn.

"You didn't have to do that," Castiel said.

"Payment is payment," Dean replied, grinning a bit wickedly, and Castiel stared down at his feet, still clad in those horrible rubber boots.

"It's getting late," Sam said finally.

"You should probably go before my brother gets home," Castiel said reluctantly.  He didn't want them to go.  He wanted to get in their car with them.  He wanted to strip down, skin naked against those leather seats, and give Sam and Dean whatever they wanted.  He wanted to be whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, forever.

He wanted a hand at the back of his neck.  He wanted Sam's thumbs pulling him apart, that hot secret place that only Castiel had touched.

He mentally shook himself.  He couldn’t have any of that.

"You should go," he said softly. "I'm not supposed to have anyone over.  Michael would be pissed."

"See you around, Cas," Sam said kindly.  He clasped his hand on Castiel's shoulder one last time, one tender touch, before loping away towards Dean's car.

Dean gifted Castiel with one last full-lipped smile.  He reached out and brushed his hand across Castiel's mouth.  His fingers tasted like engine grease and sweat and seed.

_Stay._

"You do chores every Saturday?" Dean asked.

Numbly, Castiel nodded.

"Then I guess I'll see you next week."

One last brush of fingers and Dean was striding away.  The car rumbled to life and Castiel had enough wherewithal to step out of the garage into the heat of the day, offer up one last wave as the Winchester boys sped away.

Body loose and relaxed, Castiel cleared up the empty soda cans, closed the garage.  Went inside the house and toed off his boots. He drank a cup of water, made himself a sandwich.  He cleaned up the kitchen and then mounted the steps to his bedroom.  He closed the door—no lock—and turned on his fan.

He stripped off his sticky shorts and underwear, wincing at the feeling.  But his body felt good, loose. He flung himself down on the bed, one hand drifting to his cock, the other his ass.  He hadn't been touched there, not at all, but he felt relaxed.  Receptive.  Two fingers breached the sweat-slick ring of muscle easily, and Castiel pumped them in and out, hissing at the burn.

He came twice more thinking about dicks like candy, green eyes, hands on his throat and tits and mouth.


End file.
